


lost and found like you and I

by neyvenger (jjjat3am)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: FC Barcelona, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-24 19:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10747926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/neyvenger
Summary: “Hey,” Rafa breaks the silence, “what if we prank them?”“Who?” Neymar frowns, watching as Rafa sits up in his seat, leaning forward with shining eyes.“The team. We could get them back by being the most disgustingly obvious couple ever. I bet they’ll tire of our private life in a week if it’s on display all the time.”





	lost and found like you and I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lesbleusthroughandthrough](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbleusthroughandthrough/gifts).



> dear giftee! thank you for picking this prompt, I'm fairly sure it would never be done without you. 
> 
> big thanks to the mods, for organizing this exchange, we love you! also, my eternal love and affection to Gabs, who made this presentable, for Mai, for all the hand-holding and to Frauke, for being there when I was so ready to quit
> 
> the timeline on this is somewhat confusing, but it's set in the 2015/16 season, hence some familiar faces that have left us in the meantime.

 

It’s the third time Neymar’s gone through the wine card, even though he’s been to this restaurant at least a hundred times and has tried most of the wines before. The owner knows him, has put him in the private dining room that’s big enough to serve thirty, but only has two places set up tonight. The lighting is low and there are candles on the table, and soft music coming through the speakers, but there’s no clock. He’s thankful for that, not that it stops him from pressing the button on his phone every few seconds to look at the time.

 

He’s got a date. A blind date, which makes him simultaneously less and more nervous. He knows that the person he’s meeting is a friend of Dani’s and that Dani wouldn’t send him someone bad. But, on the other hand, he’s got no idea who’s coming and doesn’t know what to expect.

 

The silk of his white button-down slides smoothly against his skin and he touches the edges of the cuffs with his fingertips to feel the stiffness. He’s dressed to impress, at least somewhat; the shirt and his dark slacks are simple but well-made, the silk of his shirt almost translucent in the right light, showing off the dark lines of ink under it. The downside of his natural curls is that he can’t style them very well, but they’ve got their own charm, stubbornly curling around his ears.

 

He presses down the button on his phone again. It’s five minutes to seven and it isn’t that his date is late, just that Neymar is insufferably early for once and he’s never been very good at waiting for things like these. It’s a personality trait he’s willed himself out of on the football pitch, but here, on his best behavior in the expensive chair, it’s got him reaching for the water glass even though he’s not thirsty and cursing when it almost slips in his sweaty palms.

 

The door opens and he looks up. The waitress enters first. He knows her – her name is Maria and her three children are big fans. She steps out of the way with a theatrical flourish, something wry in the twist of her mouth.

 

Neymar blinks at the person in the doorway, setting down the glass with a muted thump.

 

It’s not that he’s shocked that his blind date is a man – Dani had implied as much. 

 

It isn’t even that the man cuts an unquestionably handsome figure in a grey suit, tailored to show off his trim waist and wide shoulders. 

 

It’s the fact that he knows him, that it’s Rafinha standing in the doorway to the private room in Neymar’s favorite restaurant in Barcelona and watching him with a wide-eyed expression that must mirror his.

 

“Rafa?” he asks, as if he’s got to make sure somehow, as if Rafa’s been somehow hiding a twin brother somewhere that Neymar hadn’t know about.

 

“I should’ve know Dani shouldn’t be trusted with these things,” Rafa says, shock morphing into his ever present smile, an edge of mischief leveled over the warmth. “He promised me a beautiful man that’ll sweep me off my feet, and all I got was you.”

 

Neymar can’t help it – he laughs. It helps dissipate some of the tension in the line of his back and he slouches more comfortably in the padded chair, waving Rafa to come over and sit. 

 

“I’m sorry to be such a disappointment,” he says, reaching out reflexively to initiate their secret handshake. “At least I won’t have to guess at what your order is going to be.”

 

“Lobster,” Rafinha says promptly, gripping his wrist as Neymar goes to pull away, “if I’m here and you’re paying, I’ll milk you for that million dollar salary.”

 

“You don’t even like seafood. You barely eat fish!” their usual back and forth is unchanged, but there’s something just vaguely off-kilter between them, almost awkward.

 

“I like fish just fine, don’t pretend like you know me, ” Rafa says it like a joke, but it hits true. Neymar hadn’t known about this. Hadn’t known about even the slightest possibility that Rafa would, could be here, face softened by candlelight.

 

“Maybe you’re right,” he says softly, and something must show in his tone, because Rafa pauses in his perusal of the menu and catches his gaze.

 

“Hey, were you not expecting a guy tonight?” he says, suddenly serious. It’s when Neymar realizes that Rafa’s fingers are still lightly touching the thin skin of his wrist. “I thought you knew about me.”

 

“I wasn’t sure. It’s not something we talk about openly, is it?” He tries to think of a way to pull his hand away, but there’s something unexpectedly vulnerable in the twist of Rafa’s mouth, so he stays put. “I didn’t know, but it’s not like it matters. I was expecting a guy, though I’d be just as happy with a girl, but Dani didn’t tell me it was going to be you.”

 

“Why? Am I not your type?” Rafa leans back, a familiar teasing glint in his eye. He releases Neymar’s wrist in the process and it feels strangely cold when he pulls back to rest it on his lap. 

 

“You’re not even close to my type. I have standards.”

 

Which is, in hindsight, a blatant lie. Neymar can be occasionally oblivious, he’ll admit to that, but he isn’t blind. He’s never looked, because Rafa was firmly stuck in the category of ‘teammate’ and ‘friend’, but now, in the candlelight and Neymar’s mindset still set on a date, he looks unfairly handsome.

 

Rafinha catches him staring and his grin grows. “Right, of course. You like blondes better. Shouldn’t you be asking Dani to set you up with our goalie?”

 

“Our goalie is completely engrossed in his equally blonde tiny girlfriend so you better not be getting any ideas.”

 

Not that Neymar hasn’t thought about it. 

 

“I wasn’t! It’s just that if Dani was thinking of setting you up with a teammate, he might have at least used someone you’re actually attracted to.”

 

“Instead, I’m stuck with you,” Neymar sighs, but can’t contain his smile at Rafa’s answering pout. “You’ll do, I suppose. There’s worse company.”

 

“If that’s how you treat all your dates, it’s no wonder you’re single.”

 

“You’re special like that,” Neymar replies, taking a sip of his water, before changing the subject. “It’s very lazy of him though, you’d think we’re the only queer men he knows.”

 

“I think it’s a prank,” Rafa snorts, setting down his menu, his fingers tapping on the table. His fingernails are cut short and very clean. “I know for a fact that Dani has tons of gay friends. Plus, I’ve heard there’s a betting pool on.”

 

“A betting pool?” His teammates are gambling and he’s not being included, unbelievable.

 

“Yep,” Rafa says, right before the doors open and their waitress bustles in, “a betting pool on when you and I are getting together.”

 

Neymar gapes at him. Maria has to call his name twice before he finally rattles off his order and the wine.

 

“But...but, that’s so invasive! How could they do that to us? Our private life isn’t a game!” He waves his arms around to emphasise the ridiculosity of the situation, but only succeeds in almost knocking over the water glass, which makes him even angrier. 

 

“Hey. Why are you so worked up about this?” Rafa leans forward to catch his waving hands. He sounds concerned.

 

Neymar sighs, lets his fingers entwine more comfortably with Rafa’s and the warmth take out out some of his tension.

 

“It’s just that I don’t get that much privacy, the way my life is right now. I thought my teammates, of all people, would understand that.”

 

“Ney–” Neymar looks away, avoiding Rafa’s gaze and the pity he’s sure is there. It’s not like he doesn’t love his life. It’s just that sometimes it would be nice to take his kid to the park and not cause a screaming mob. He thought the others understood, but maybe not. He was a lot more liberal with his privacy than most of them.

 

“Why would they think that about us anyway?” Neymar interrupts. He doesn’t want to hear what the answer is, the situation is too mortifying already.

 

Rafa just raises an eyebrow at him, moves his gaze deliberately to stare at their still-clasped hands, fingers entwined. Their legs are pressed close together under the table, Neymar’s knee brushing against Rafa’s and their ankles tangling.  _ Oh. _ Right, that’s why.

 

“We’re just people who like to touch, what’s the big deal? I’m the same with Leo and Luis, and nobody’s tried to bet on us dating,” Neymar says, almost sullen. 

 

“I’m fairly certain that half of the world’s football analysts have already planned your polyamorous wedding, but whatever helps you sleep at night,” Rafa says.

 

“No wedding, we couldn’t agree on anything except for the maté.” Neymar says, absently. Rafa’s thumb has started stroking his knuckles and it’s nothing out of the ordinary for them, but he’s starting to realize how intimate it is. “Besides, Luis and Sofia are practically one person, and I don’t think I could get Leo to leave Anto and Agüero for me.”

 

“You’ve thought about this extensively, I see,” Rafa’s grin is back, but any further conversation is interrupted by their soup. Neymar notices how the waitress’ eyes immediately zero in on their clasped hands and he pulls away, suddenly embarrassed. 

 

The rest of the meal passes pleasantly, even though Neymar can’t quite shake the thought of his teammates betting on his private life and how uncomfortable it makes him. Rafa must sense something of it and seems to be consciously avoiding the topic, so instead they gossip about old acquaintances and share childhood stories.

 

It does feel good to spend some time with Rafa like this, just the two of them. Usually they hang out with the rest of the Brazilians or with a group of friends as buffer, and they talk, but not like this, with singular focus.

 

Rafa tells him about Thiago and his face lights up with something soft and almost adoring. His tone is entirely fond, even when he remembers something stupid his brother’s done. Not for the first time, Neymar feels a sliver of guilt in his chest. He wants to ask Rafa how he feels, seeing his brother’s number on Neymar’s back, if he blames him somehow, for Thiago following Pep to Germany. But Rafa’s face is relaxed and happy, the candlelight softening his features, and Neymar doesn’t want to take that away from him, not even for a moment.

 

He listens instead, asks about Rafa’s other family, his father’s old football stories –

 

“Our dads should meet,” Rafa says.

 

“What, so they can make fun of our tattoos together?” Neymar says, and they both laugh.

 

– and his childhood.

 

“And that’s how they found us, the cookie jar wedged on Thiago’s head and me crying hysterically, and no one could get us to tell what really happened.” Rafa’s voice cracks, fighting his laughter to get the words out, and Neymar’s abandoned all pretense some time ago, lying facedown on the tablecloth and crying with laughter.

 

“And then there was the time–” 

 

“Enough, enough, I can’t catch my breath!”

 

They descend into hysterics again, laughing harder every time they catch sight of each other. Neymar’s stomach hurts and there are tears running down his face. 

 

When they finally manage to calm down, Neymar revels in the release of tension from his limbs. He feels almost empty, at peace after all that genuine laughter. He can’t remember when he last laughed like that.

 

“Hey,” Rafa breaks the silence, and Neymar looks up, wiping the last of his tears. “What if we prank them?”

 

“Who?” Neymar frowns, watching as Rafa sits up in his seat, leaning forward with shining eyes.

 

“The team. You don’t want them meddling in your private life, so let’s make them regret it. We could get them back by being the most disgustingly obvious couple ever. I bet they’ll tire of our private life in a week if it’s on display all the time.”

 

“You mean pretend to date?” Neymar’s having a hard time wrapping his head around the idea, but Rafa seems excited.

 

“Yeah! We can be one of those grossly in love couples, with pet names and cuddling in public.”

 

“Ohhh,” Neymar nods, “like Ivan.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“But what if they don’t believe us? It’s embarrassing, but Dani can read me much too well for me to keep a secret from him, and I bet Andres, Masche and Luis will also be suspicious.”

 

“We just need to convince Luis that we’re star-crossed lovers and he’ll plan our wedding himself. You know he’s a closet romantic.”

 

“I did catch him crying at Titanic that one time,” Neymar says wryly, watching Rafa bounce excitedly in his seat.

 

“Exactly! We’ll manage the other two somehow. I’m worried about Leo though.”

 

“Leo?” Neymar lest out a snort, “You’ll be lucky if Leo even notices anything different. He’s kind of dumb about these things.”

 

“Like he was dumb about your flirting?” Rafa grins, fiddling with his cuffs. They’ve come loose somewhere during dinner, after he’d lost his jacket, and there’s a sliver of dark skin on display, sharply contrasting against the white. Neymar allows himself a fond smile. It’s impossible to get Rafa to go for longer periods of time without subconsciously fiddling with his clothes in some way. He supposes he should be grateful that Rafa is wearing a shirt at all.

 

“I wasn’t flirting. Not much anyway. It’s yourself you need to worry about. Ter Stegen? Xavi? Iniesta? Is there anyone you haven’t inappropriately touched on camera?”

 

“I didn’t touch them that inappropriately!” Rafa is hard to fluster, but when he does it’s spectacular. He usually pouts too and Neymar can see why his brother can never deny him anything. 

 

“You opened the German’s buttons on live camera,” Neymar lists, “you grabbed Xavi into a hug during drills and you slapped Andres’s butt that one time. Face it Alcantara, everyone knows you’re a flirt.”

 

“I didn’t slap Andres’s butt!” 

 

“It was a caress then,” Neymar smirks, enjoying the way Rafa is sweating. “And you’re not denying that you’re a flirt.”

 

Instantly, Rafa’s demeanor changes. He leans his head sideways to expose the long line of his neck, pitching his voice low and sultry.

 

“Does that affect my chances of dating you?” he says.

 

Neymar pretends to think about it, feeling hot. He shifts in his seat, suddenly uncomfortably aware of Rafa’s knee where it’s pressing against his. He knows Rafa’s game, has seen him pull the exact same move a hundred times on a hundred women. It doesn’t explain why he falls for it so easily.

 

“Oh, yes. I never know if you’re serious about me. I can’t stake my heart on that!” Neymar jokes, trying to find his equilibrium. 

 

“That’s the story we should stick to!” 

 

“What, that I was playing hard to get?”

 

“Yeah! I’ll tell them that I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, but you rejected my flirting so I thought you weren’t interested. So I pined from afar.” Rafa’s voice has a weird note to it and Neymar frowns at him, but Rafa looks away, avoiding his eyes.

 

“You pined after me for months, hanging on every word I said–” 

 

“I wouldn’t go that far–” 

 

“Treasuring every touch–” 

 

“...enough, enough!”

 

“You did say we should sell the story.”

 

“I’ll tell them I confessed my feelings for you and that you didn’t believe me at first, thinking it was too good to be true–” 

 

“Hey!” Neymar protests, trying to stifle his laughter. He’s warming up to the prank bit by bit. It does sound pretty harmless in the long run and it’s not like touching Rafa is ever going to be a chore. “More like I grudgingly gave you a chance to prove yourself.”

 

“Whatever you say, darling,” Rafinha says, pulling a piece of paper and a pen from somewhere and scribbling furiously on it.

 

“Darling?” Neymar asks, frowning. 

 

“Yes, we need to use pet names as often as possible,” Rafa looks up from his paper, grinning, “now, which one do you prefer, darling or babe?”

 

“Which one will make the vein on Masche’s head stand out more?” Neymar asks innocently. Rafa looks up and that’s all it takes for them to burst out laughing.

 

“See, this is why I’m dating you,” Rafa says, amidst chuckles. 

 

And Neymar has to look away, pulls out one of his phones to fiddle with, because Rafa’s glance is just a bit too fond, and it makes something warm spread in the pit of his stomach. 

 

They’re just pretending, he’s got to rein himself in a little. Maybe Dani was right after all – it had been too long since he’s last been with someone. When all this is over he probably should find a real date, maybe someone Rafaella knows, or David Brazil, or maybe just someone from his old neighbourhood. That seems to have worked out alright for Leo. Just someone that isn’t his teammate and one of his best friends.

 

He looks up to see Rafa smiling at his phone, typing something. His cuffs are entirely unbuttoned and he’d been clean shaven at practice that morning, but now there’s a trace of stubble on his face.

 

“What are you looking at?” Rafa says and Neymar startles, caught.

 

“You look good,” he says, without thinking and flushes when Rafa smiles, looking entirely too pleased.

 

“Save that for tomorrow,” Rafa says, “with that exact look on your face. It’s very convincing.”

 

Neymar nods to himself, feeling oddly unbalanced, then gets up to ask for the check.

  
  
  


*

  
  


Neymar’s still blinking sleep out of his eyes when he pulls up in his reserved spot and cuts the engine. Rafa is waiting for him by his car, sitting up on the hood. He looks good, bundled up in a scarf and sunglasses, the morning sunshine reflecting off the lens.

 

When Neymar goes for the secret handshake, Rafa pulls him closer and plants a kiss on his cheek, murmuring, “You’re making me late.”

 

Neymar isn’t. He’d gotten up early for the express purpose of arriving early to training today, but his cheek tingles a little where Rafa’s beard brushed against it, and he forgets about arguing.

 

“Since when do you kiss me when you see me in the mornings?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as they start walking.

 

“Since we started dating,” Rafa says, apparently unbothered.

 

“There were no teammates around,” Neymar points out, amused.

 

“They could quiz the security guy, you never know,” Rafa says, reaching for Neymar’s hand.

 

The security guy is practically beaming at them as they walk past and say hello. Neymar wonders if he’s in on the bet. Rafa’s hand comes to rest around his waist. He’s very warm.

 

As soon as they enter the locker room, everyone’s eyes turn towards them. Neymar freezes briefly, but then Rafa’s fingers pinch the soft skin above his hip and he remembers to paste on his best approximation of a ‘freshly in love’ expression, while at the same time attempting to glare at Rafa from the corner of his eye.

 

He puts his hand on Rafa’s butt and pinches it in revenge. He hardly reacts, the bastard, except to pull Neymar tighter against his side.

 

The room is still silent, seemingly waiting for them to speak.

 

“Good morning,” Neymar finally says. Nothing. Everyone stays rooted to the spot, staring at where Rafa’s fingers have slipped under Neymar’s shirt to rest on the skin of his hip. Neymar wants to stare at it a little bit too, but that would mean examining the weird flip-flops his stomach is doing at the simple touch, and he’s not really ready to do that. 

 

In the end, Rafa takes the reins, pulls him closer to press a soft kiss to the corner of Neymar’s mouth. Neymar feels the warmth of it right down to his toes.

 

The locker room explodes in applause and wolf-whistles.

 

Dani bounds from his stall to hug them both, yelling incoherently. Geri, also yelling, pulls some sparklers out of nowhere, which Masche confiscates immediately. 

 

“So, you’re together now?” Masche’s voice cuts through the ruckus like a knife. Neymar swallows nervously, doing his best to smile naturally.

 

“Yeah, we’re dating,” he says, and Rafa’s fingers grip tightly onto his hip for a moment before relaxing. Neymar looks up at him, and he looks fine, normal, smiling gently at everyone looking at them.

 

“And how did this happen?” Masche, again, apparently unwilling to let up. Neymar is almost worried he’ll smell the lie on him.

 

“Well, we–” Neymar starts.

 

“I’ve been in love with him forever,” Rafa interrupts. On cue, Ivan lets out a high pitched sigh. “I finally got the courage to tell him. Turns out he felt the same.”

 

“Wow,” Sergi says, wide-eyed. At least he looks completely convinced, and he’s known Rafa since they were kids, so Neymar presumes they must be acting pretty well.

 

Not that he’s acting when he lets out a squeak as Rafa suddenly cups his face, looks earnestly into his eyes and says, “You were just waiting for me to man up, weren’t you,  _ kitten _ ?”

 

Neymar can see the exact moment a vein in Masche’s forehead pops.

 

Still. He’s not about to let Rafa get away with calling him that.

 

“You’re so brave,  _ my puppy dog _ ,” he says, watches in satisfaction as Rafa’s mouth drops open. “I can’t believe we were apart for so long!”

 

Ivan bursts into tears. 

 

“I’m so happy for you!” he sobs, as Ter Stegen wearily pulls a tissue from his bag to hand it to him.

 

“We’re all very happy for you,” Andres’ voice is quiet, but imbued with so much genuine warmth that Neymar has to briefly bury his face in Rafa’s shoulder to steady himself. It makes him miss the moment Masche notices the money switching hands behind them.

 

“And what are you two doing?” Masche says, his voice dropping dangerously low. Dani and Geri freeze with a couple of Euros dangling between them. 

 

And because Geri has been conditioned to immediately spill when confronted with that glare, he blabs.

 

“We had a bet,” he says, and Neymar turns around in Rafa’s arms to watch the proceedings. Rafa pops his head on his shoulder and his chin digs uncomfortably into the bone. Neymar allows it anyway.

 

“You had a bet,” Masche says, very quietly. By then, Andres has gotten up from his stall as well. Neymar catches a glimpse of his face – disapproving and disappointed, and all the more devastating for it.

 

“Yeah. So what?” Geri says, because he never learns.

 

“You had a bet on your teammates’ love lives?” Masche says, lowly, dangerous.

 

“That makes me very uncomfortable,” Neymar says, quietly. It seems to echo in the suddenly silent locker room.

 

“It makes him uncomfortable,” Masche repeats, sharply. Neymar can see some heads in the room hang in shame. “You’ll give them all the money you’ve collected and apologize.”

 

“But–” Geri starts to protest.

 

“Do I have to call Puyi, Gerard?” Andres says, calmly. Geri instantly goes pale and starts shaking his head. “Good.”

 

It’s a decent amount of money in the end, all collected in a pile. Rafa turns to him after and grins.

 

“I’ll take you to a nice dinner after,  _ pumpkin _ ,” he says, and Geri stumbles over his feet behind them. 

 

“You always take me to the nicest places,  _ darling _ ,” Neymar bats his eyelashes for special effect. They’re standing really close and Rafa’s hand is – yep, there it is, on his ass.

 

Someone makes a vomiting noise behind them. Neymar hides his grin into Rafa’s neck.

 

Andres coughs politely behind them and they separate. “Are you going to tell Lucho?” he asks.

 

This would be the best place to tell them it’s all been a fake. They’ve exposed the betting circle, they have the earnings and if they reveal it as a prank now, there might be some retaliation, but nothing they can’t handle. 

 

Telling your manager is a big step for a relationship, on par with meeting the parents. Not that Rafa hasn’t met his parents before.

 

The point is, this would be the perfect time to call it off, explain the situation, get away from Rafa’s hands warm on his hips and into something resembling normalcy. 

 

Instead, Rafa’s arm tightens around him. “Of course we will,” he says, as Neymar whips around to stare at him. Rafa gives him a tight smile and shrug, and okay, apparently they’re going all the way with this.

 

They separate when they get to their stalls and there’s a brief awkward moment when Neymar doesn’t know what to do with his body without Rafa’s hands on it. They should be amping up their acting, but Neymar still feels off-kilter, affected by Rafa in his space now that all his barriers have been stripped down.

 

There’s no time to talk it over before they have to hit the field and Rafa is avoiding his gaze anyway, so he can’t catch his attention. Their hands still brush between them as they walk, and Neymar doesn’t know if it’s just to keep up with their act where cameras might be present or if it’s something else. He doesn’t want to think about the latter, but he can’t seem to focus on anything else.

 

Lucho is already waiting for them when they come out, flanked by Unzué, and wearing a big smile. The Mister is a morning person and it never stops being annoying. He gives them their instructions and their teammates scatter while Neymar and Rafa stay behind. 

 

“What can I do for you, boys?” Lucho asks. He seems to sense the tension in them, grin dimming into something more professional.

 

“Ney and I,” Rafa starts, then looks hopelessly at Neymar, like the whole thing wasn’t his own stupid idea.

 

“We’re together,” Neymar says, as calmly as he can, linking their arms. Lucho’s gaze travels from their faces to their arms, then back again, before he nods.

 

“I support you and the club supports you,” he says, “if you want to come out, we’re all behind you.”

 

Neymar swallows back a sudden lump in his throat. 

 

“We aren’t there yet, Mister, but thank you for the offer,” Rafa takes over smoothly, but Neymar can feel him tremble a little where he’s standing beside him.

 

“Alright, but the offer is there,” Lucho says, before suddenly grinning and clapping Neymar on the shoulder so hard he almost tips him over. “I had no idea this was going on! Congratulations!”

 

“Thanks, Mister.”

 

“But no shenanigans in my training ground, alright? I’m separating you for training. Rafa, go with Sergi, Ney, you’re with Leo.”

 

Neymar swallows heavily. He’s sort of been hoping to avoid Leo, for at least a little while longer. Rafa squeezes his hand gently, seeming to sense his sudden spike in anxiety, and then they separate and Neymar is on his own.

 

Leo smiles at him when he gets near him and passes him the ball. Neymar waits for him to say something, but Leo doesn’t, just passes the ball back and forth, until Neymar settles in the cadence of it, focus sharpening and shoulders loose.

 

The whistle blows, signaling a change in the drills, and Neymar shakes out of his reverie. Leo is still smiling at him gently.

 

“Thank you,” Neymar says, a little uncertainty. He feels more focused, settled in his skin, feet firmly on the ground. 

 

“You looked like you needed it,” Leo says, clapping him on the shoulder as he walks by. 

 

They line up for sprints, and Neymar stands behind Rafa, settles his chin on his shoulder after a moment of deliberation, wrapping his arm around his middle. Rafa distractedly strokes along the back of Neymar’s hand, reassuring. 

 

Jordi softly says, “Awww,” somewhere behind them, and they separate. The churning feeling in Neymar’s stomach is back.

 

The thing is, they would have done something like that even without the fake dating thing. Neymar would have looked for him or Rafa would have come up behind him, offering a quick shot of comfort and reassurance. It’s just how they are. He’d never considered what it might like to look to other people, especially if they thought they were actually together.

 

They walk back to the dressing room, calling each other increasingly disgustingly sweet nicknames, until everyone around them is groaning and Ivan is crying again. Ter Stegen is running out of tissues.

 

They don’t kiss again. The others seem convinced enough, so they don’t have to. Neymar tries not to feel disappointed by that.

 

Dani pulls him aside when Neymar is just about ready to go. He and Rafa have dinner plans, so he feels fine just sending him on ahead, leans in to receive a goodbye kiss on the cheek, Rafa’s beard gently scratching against Neymar’s clean shaven skin. 

 

After they separate, Dani steers Neymar away into one of the massage rooms and closes the door behind them. He then proceeds to stare intensely at Neymar, as if he’s expecting to read his mind or look into his soul. Neymar just blinks back, waiting.

 

He’s never been particularly patient.

 

“What’s up?” Neymar finally breaks the silence. 

 

Dani frowns. “Are you happy?” he asks.

 

“What?” Neymar says, mind suddenly racing.

 

“With Rafa. You’re happy?” Dani says, as Neymar frantically searches his memories of the day, trying to figure out where they screwed up. “I mean, you aren’t doing this for some misguided reason to please us? Because you know the guys have been hoping you’d get together forever.”

 

“I didn’t know that,” Neymar says, quietly, because he hadn’t.

 

“Oh,” Dani says, still frowning, “are you really upset about the betting thing?”

 

“Yeah, a bit.”

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

 

‘You should have,’ Neymar thinks and ‘you know me better than almost anyone else’. He discards both.

 

“It’s okay,” he says instead, and he can tell that Dani doesn’t really believe him.

 

“I didn’t mean to trick you, I just thought you two needed a push,” Dani says, sincerely, and, “I thought he could be really good for you, you know?”

 

It’s luck that that’s the moment Dani goes in for a hug, because that way he doesn’t see the way Neymar’s face twists up, the heavy feeling in his gut finally coming to the surface, because he knows Rafa could be. He knows how good they could be together, he’s known since the beginning, but he hadn’t allowed himself to think about it, or consider the possibility, because it’d open up a Pandora’s box of feelings he’s not allowed to have. And now it’s opened up anyway, with Rafa and his fake dating, each touch making it clearer that what Rafa considers pretend is getting somewhere way too real for Neymar.

 

By the time Dani pulls back, he’s already schooled his face into some semblance of normal. It seems to fool Dani well enough anyway, because he just beams at him and messes up his hair.

 

So there’s that.

  
  


*

  
  


The deception continues. 

 

Neymar and Rafa act like a couple in front of their teammates, brushing mouths before games, holding hands through the hallways and coming up with increasingly inventive pet names. The fact of their relationship becomes just one of the many well hidden and guarded club secrets, no more remarkable than Leo occasionally throwing tantrums over the ripeness of the kiwi in the cafeteria or Geri using Ramos’ headshot for darts practice.

 

It’s devastating, in a way.

 

It’s so easy to play a harmonious, over the top couple with Rafa, so easy to prescribe more intent to his touch that he intended to put there. It’s devastating, because as soon as they’re out of sight of their teammates, Rafa pulls away.

 

Not entirely, of course. Rafa couldn’t live without touch, just like he couldn’t live without constantly fiddling with his clothes. It’s another layer to the way he communicates, but most of the time, all Neymar is getting from him are mixed signals.

 

Every evening, laying alone in his California King bed, curled up in the cold sheets and listening to the silence press down on him, Neymar decides he’s going to break it off. Maybe try to find to find someone new, someone who’ll stay the night and who he can introduce to his family.

 

Come morning, he wakes up to a text from Rafa about some wacky dream he had, and he decides to delay the breakup for another day.

 

*

 

Rafa is around a lot, just because they usually head to Neymar’s house after lunch, or for lunch. Neymar’s family likes him, he knows. 

 

He dances with Neymar’s mama, a little clumsy because he hasn’t had as much practice, and she laughs and twirls him around, while Neymar’s dad calls out encouragements. Even Rafaella likes him and she’s usually so overprotective, as much as he is of her, maybe even more.

 

Neymar watches Rafa in those moments, feels his heart splinter apart further, growing in his chest, until it the weight of it makes it hard to breathe. 

 

Rafa fills the house with his laughter and he shows Davi how to make paper airplanes, and when he catches Neymar looking, he just smiles wider, glows brighter, until there’s no way Neymar could look away from him, even if he really wanted to.

 

*

 

Now that Carolina actually lives in Barcelona, Neymar gets to see Davi more. His son has grown, in large part without him there to offer support. There were phone calls and visits and trying to keep his eyes open while reading him bedtime stories, but outside that there’s a vast world of things he’s missed, of problems that Carolina had to deal with on her own and his money couldn’t magically solve.

 

So he’s glad they’re here with him now, that he can see Davi playing with his grandma in the afternoons, and racing across the yard with his grandpa and Poker. That he can put him to bed in the evening, squinting at the words of the story he’s reading in the half light of the lamp, while Davi’s breathing evens out beside him.

 

Still, there are some parenting challenges that he’s ill-equipped for and that’s painful sometimes.

 

Like one day, a rare one where he and Davi are spending time entirely alone, midway through building a lego house, one of Neymar’s phones rings. It’s his agent, explaining that there’s been a change in scheduling for one of his endorsement photoshoots.

 

“You need to come in and re-take some pictures,” his agent says.

 

“I can’t,” Neymar says, his eyes darting to Davi happily playing with his blocks.

 

“You have to. If you don’t, you’ll lose this endorsement and two more connected to it. They can sue you for not fulfilling contractual obligations.”

 

“I’m spending time with my son,” Neymar says, softly, “I don’t know if his babysitter is available.”

 

“I’m sorry,” his agent says, his tone softening. “I can buy you some time, but we can’t completely reschedule.”

 

Neymar hangs up with him and immediately dials Davi’s usual babysitter. It’s her niece’s birthday and there’s no way she can come in. He calls the second babysitter on call. Also busy. His papa and Rafaella are back in Brazil, and his mom is at a spa retreat. Carolina is away on a trip with her class.

 

That leaves his list of people he’s comfortable leaving his child with almost entirely empty and panic starts to set in.

 

In the end, he takes a deep breath and calls Rafa.

 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Rafa says to him on the phone, after Neymar tries to explain the situation, rushing to get it out, because he’s in a hurry and embarrassed to be seen so disorganized when it comes to his kid. “You need me to look after Davi for a while? I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

 

And then Neymar is listening to the dial tone. 

 

Davi accepts the situation stoically, with far more patience than Neymar has ever managed in his life, much less as a child.

 

“Will Rafa play dinosaurs with me?” he asks, watching Neymar trying to pull dinner out of the freezer and gel down his hair at the same time. 

 

“You’ll have to explain to him what the rules are,” Neymar says, even though the game of dinosaurs has no rules that he can discern. “And if you ask him nicely, I’m sure he will.”

 

The doorbell rings. It’s Rafa, wearing flip flops and sweatpants with a thin shirt. Neymar’s heart swells at the sight of him, and he throws himself forward, hugging him.

 

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” he says, continues before Rafa can get a word in edgewise, “there’s dinner on the counter, just stick it in the oven for 30 minutes, we usually eat at 6. I’ll be back before then, hopefully, but just in case. His bedtime is at 9, don’t let him fool you, it’s only later if it’s a match day.”

 

Rafa nods, a little stupefied, and Neymar kisses him on the cheek, goes back to the living room to say goodbye to Davi, promises he’ll be back to put him to bed, and then he’s off, flying down the stairs to the garage and into his car.

 

Traffic in Barcelona is murder as usual, but he makes it to the right area with a few minutes to spare. He’s a little more brusque with the staff than he usually would be. He hopes it won’t come out in some newspaper tomorrow, but then again, he can’t really find it in himself to care.

 

In the end, they finish in record time, and his glare dissuades the photographer from requesting more retakes. It’s evening by the time Neymar emerges out of the building and into the car. There’s been no frantic messages or phone calls in the meantime, so he can only assume everything is alright at home. 

 

That, or they’ve both been kidnapped and are being held for ransom. He hurries home.

 

The house is mostly quiet when he comes in. Poker pads over to greet him, wagging his tail, and Neymar crouches down to scratch behind his ears. He’s a good dog, quiet and affectionate. Surely, he would have been disturbed by prospective kidnappers? Or maybe he’d just roll over on his belly and enjoy the petting.

 

There’s Frozen playing on the big screen in the living room and Neymar flinches instinctively when he sees Elsa’s face. He’d hidden that DVD somewhere, after Davi had demanded they watch it over fifty times over the span of a week. He’s got no idea how Rafa managed to dig it out.

 

When he comes closer to the couch, he freezes. There’s Rafa, leaning his head against his arm. Davi’s asleep on his knee, breathing even and peaceful. As Neymar watches, Rafa brushes his hand through Davi’s curls and Davi cuddles closer, content.

 

Neymar’s heart does something in his chest, where it contracts and expands at the same time, and he must make some sort of noise, because Rafa looks up, blinking at him in the half light, his face cast in shadow and Neymar loves him.

 

God help him. He loves him.

 

“Hey,” Rafa says, soft and a little sleepy, “you’re back.”

 

Neymar nods, still at a loss.

 

“We had fun,” Rafa continues, unbothered. “We went for a walk with Poker to the park. Must have tired him out.” He nods towards Davi, who’s starting to stir at the sound of their voices.

 

Neymar walks around the couch to crouch next to him. Davi blinks his eyes open and stares at him, smiling sleepily after a moment. 

 

“Papa,” he mutters, reaching out, and Neymar picks him up carefully off the couch. He’s heavy now, too big to be carried around, but Neymar indulges him sometimes. What’s all that iron pumping for, if he can’t even carry his sleepy son around occasionally?

 

He catches Rafa watching them over Davi’s shoulder. The expression on his face is strange, unfamiliar, and Neymar raises his eyebrows at him in question. This seems to shake Rafa out of his distraction, and he smiles at them, nods.

 

Neymar smiles back, then walks out with Davi carefully cradled in his arms. He puts him to bed, tucks him in and presses a kiss to his forehead. 

 

When he comes back downstairs, Rafa is nowhere to be seen. Neymar finally finds him on the patio, throwing a ball with Poker, who runs after it excitedly, tongue lolling. He sits next to him quietly, watches him from the corner of his eye.

 

It’s spring in Barcelona, but the evenings still get cold. Rafa is wearing one of Neymar’s hoodies. It’s too small on him, stretched over his shoulders. Still reeling over his earlier revelation, he looks a little too long, and Rafa catches him at it.

 

“What?” he says, a trace of laughter in his voice. The streetlights draw shadows on his face and Neymar can hear Poker’s panting somewhere nearby. 

 

“Nothing,” Neymar says, but leans forward, cups Rafa’s face in his palm and kisses him gently, as sweet as he knows how. Rafa’s mouth is slack under his, soft, and he sighs into the kiss. Neymar braces his hand on the wood of the deck, deepens the kiss, until he coaxes Rafa into responding.

 

Poker barks, once and bounding across the yard, chasing a squirrel, and they break apart with a gasp. 

 

“Nobody is watching,” Rafa says, softly. He’s got that strange expression on his face again, the one Neymar can’t seem to read.

 

“I didn’t kiss you for anyone else,” Neymar says, equally softly. He gets up, dusts off his pants and offers Rafa a hand up. And then he just doesn’t let him go.

 

Poker bounds in ahead of them, curls up on his pillow with a deep sigh. It makes Neymar smile, but he continues up the stairs, tugging Rafa behind him. He follows him quietly, his steps soundless on the hardwood. The only way Neymar knows he’s really following is the solid warmth of their clasped hands.

 

Rafa stops him in front of the door to Neymar’s bedroom. 

 

“What are we doing?” he asks, softly, a note of wonder in his voice. “What is this?”

 

Neymar glances back at him, barely making out his expression in the half-light. “Do we have to call it anything?” he asks, because over the last few weeks they’ve called themselves a lot of things and all of them had been fake. He just wants Rafa and this one real thing between them. 

 

“Okay,” Rafa says, and his voice sounds strange, shuttered, choked off, but Neymar doesn’t get to ask about it. Rafa kisses him as soon as the door shuts behind them, deeply and with the edge of desperation, and after that, Neymar can think of nothing much at all.

 

He wakes up in the middle of the night, smiles as he listens to his mom trying to shush her friends as they make their way up the stairs. 

 

Rafa is a warm presence at his side and Neymar rolls over, buries his nose in his neck and falls back to sleep, content.

 

When he wakes up in the morning, Rafa’s gone.

  
  


*

  
  


Rafa seems to be avoiding him. They see each other in the locker room, but whenever Neymar sidles closer to him, Rafa seems to have an excuse to be on the other side of the room. They aren’t paired up for training and after, Rafa is nowhere to be found.

 

Neymar grits his teeth and bears it. It didn’t feel like a mistake last night, but maybe in the light of day, Rafa saw a different picture. 

 

In any case, there’s not a lot of time to worry about it. They have a match to play, and every minute counts when you’re trying to win the Champions league. 

 

Neymar sees Rafa come on, replacing Ivan. He adjust his position accordingly, falls further forward as Leo drops back. They’re struggling with Roma’s defense, so it makes sense to have someone help them push forward. 

 

It’s the crowd that alerts him that something’s wrong. There’s a sudden hush, like everyone is holding their breath and when he turns around, Rafa is down.

 

Rafa is screaming.

 

Neymar is across the pitch in a flash, dropping to his knees next to him, trying to keep his eyes off the gruesome sight of his leg and on his face instead. Rafa looks up at him frightened and desperate, and a bit of Neymar’s heart breaks in his chest.

 

He leans over him, shielding his body from the crowd, the medics running towards them, and the inky night sky.

 

“You’ll be okay,” he says, and Rafa gasps, like he’s been holding his breath, “breathe, come on, you’re going to be okay.”

 

And so they breathe. Neymar keeps muttering soft meaningless encouragements, trying to keep Rafa conscious and present. He knows the exact moment when the move Rafa’s leg, because he whines, high in his throat and his hands twist where they’re tangled in Neymar’s shirt, pulling it tight across his chest. 

 

Neymar cups his face in his hands, keeping eye contact as he talks and Rafa eventually focuses on his face, breathes as evenly as he can while they move him.

 

Even as they load him up, Rafa keeps a grip on Neymar, clutching at his fingers. Neymar walks them to the edge of the pitch, leans down low, to press a soft kiss to Rafa’s forehead, a benediction, the only thing he can do, and then Rafa is gone, down the tunnel and probably into an ambulance.

 

He plays the rest of the game in forced concentration, but as soon as the whistle goes he’s down the tunnel like a bullet.

 

It’s for nothing, he realizes soon. Rafa’s already at the hospital and asking to go see him only gets him pitying looks. 

 

By the time he wakes up in the morning, Rafa’s already been flown to a specialist the club employs in the US. And that, as they say, is that.

  
  


*

  
  


Rafa doesn’t return his calls, or his text messages. 

 

It’s fine. Neymar can deal. He’s fine.

 

It’s just that it’s a bit shitty that people keep asking him about how Rafa is doing, and all he can offer them is a shrug and a scripted answer about him coming back stronger.

 

It’s even shittier when it turns out that Rafa has actually been talking to Dani and updating him on how he’s feeling. So Dani knows more about his boyfriend’s injury than he does. His fake boyfriend. Whatever.

 

It all comes to a head when Sergi pulls him aside one day after training, looking very serious.

 

“Did you screw it up?” he asks, and Neymar’s blood turns to ice in his veins. “With Rafa? Did you do something to him? Because he won’t even talk about you.”

 

Neymar shrugs, focusing on something in the distance, just beside Sergi’s head. What is he even supposed to say? ‘I kissed him’? Sergi’s seen them kiss plenty of times, and so has the rest of the squad. Neymar doesn’t feel like explaining what was real and what wasn’t, especially since he doesn’t have a good grasp on that either.

 

“You need to fix it,” Sergi continues, at which point Neymar has had about enough of the conversation.

 

“I’m not the one who’s avoiding calls,” Neymar says, quietly and coldly. “I wasn’t the one who decided it was okay to sacrifice our friendship. He did. So if you could stop telling me what to do and what not to do about the situation, that would be great.”

 

He leaves Sergi there, frozen and gaping in surprise. He doesn’t talk to anyone on his way out, drives too fast and too recklessly, and when he comes home, he makes a break for Rafaella’s room, where he spends the rest of the day with his head resting on her lap, watching a movie.

 

She doesn’t press him. It’s not her style. She’s patient enough to wait him out. 

 

“Boys are stupid,” he tells her, the closest he comes to really talking about it.

 

Rafaella nods seriously, smooths down his hair even though she knows he hates that. “Yes, you are,” she says.

  
  


*

  
  


The season comes and goes. They win the Champions league and the Copa del Rey, but the league trophy escapes them. Neymar supposes he should be proud that they’re on a high enough level where that’s considered a disappointment.

 

He’s stopped messaging Rafa. It feels kinder to himself that way. When they start training again, he plans to be civil, but nothing more than that. He’s pretty sure the rest of the guys think they’ve had a bad break-up. Most of them probably also think it’s Neymar’s fault. Maybe they’re right. 

 

Neymar goes back to Brazil at the end of the season. Drives to his family home and kisses his mom at the door, grinning when he’s greeted by the loud chorus of yells from his family and friends. He lets himself be enveloped by their love, and doesn’t let himself think about anything or anyone else.

  
  


*

  
  


Neymar drives to Carolina’s about a week into his summer vacation. He’s picking up Davi, but he ends up sitting with Carolina on the back porch and watching him play. Davi likes it when they’re together, like this. Like a real family, even if they’re an unconventional one.

 

Carolina offers him a glass of lemonade and he accepts, sipping it slowly and watching her from the corner of his eye.

 

She’s as beautiful as ever, blonde hair falling soft and wispy to her shoulders, her face leaner without baby fat. He sees her in Davi’s face every time he looks at him. That’s good. Dani’s better off, taking after her.

 

She’s grown up. Maybe too quickly. He’s got his part in that too. 

 

“Rafaella told me you’ve been acting off lately,” Carolina says, softly, startling him out of his reverie.

 

“I’m fine,” he says, too quickly. He knows she’s close with Rafaella, but it never fails to blindside him when she reminds him of it.

 

Carolina takes her eyes away from Davi to look at him. “Davi asked me the other day, why your friend Rafinha isn’t around anymore,” she says, still softly, a counterpoint to how her words draw like a knife into his heart. 

 

“Oh,” is all Neymar can say.

 

“So. Are you okay?” she asks.

 

“No,” he says.

 

It all comes spilling out, the blind date and the prank, and falling for Rafa hard and fast, under the illusion that he could have him for real, not just for pretending. He stutters over their last night together, but he tells Carolina anyway. It feels vulnerable, having it all laid out neatly in front of their eyes, but it’s cathartic too.

 

“...and I don’t know what I did? He kissed me back, and I thought. I don’t know.” Neymar finishes, running his hand through his hair. He takes a big glup of his lemonade, suddenly aware of how thirsty he is. “I don’t know what I thought.”

 

“I think I understand what happened,” Carolina says, and the bittersweet tone of her voice has Neymar snapping to look at her. 

 

“You do?”

 

“A little bit, yeah.”

 

She pauses for a moment, quiet, and Neymar practically bounces out of his seat with frustration, but she starts talking before he can prompt her again.

 

“You know,” Carolina starts, “you make it very easy to fall in love with you.”

 

She looks at him, and there’s a sadness in her expression, a heartbreaking sort of wistfulness. “I think that’s what happened to Rafinha,” she continues, softly, “and maybe it scared him, because you…”

 

She falls silent again, frowning.

 

“I what?” he prompts her, as gently as he can.

 

“You’re like a hurricane,” Carolina tells him, smiling softly, “and you make the world so much brighter with your presence. It’s scary sometimes. Maybe he felt that too.”

 

Neymar nods, numbly. His mind is whirling and he can’t really seem to collect any of his thoughts. They lapse into silence, watching Davi talk to his stuffed bear, guiding him across a maze he built with the blocks.

 

“Do you still–” Neymar starts, but Carolina cuts him off.

 

“Don’t ask me that,” she says, quiet and final. He closes his mouth and nods.

 

Neymar had other plans for the day, but he ends up staying at Carolina’s. They play with Davi, passing a ball back and forth, and they play with Davi’s dolls. Carolina is much better at doing the voices than he is. 

 

He helps Carolina hang the laundry and make lunch, while Davi runs around underfoot. It’s nice and quiet, and a part of him keeps getting stuck on how he could still have this life. 

 

But a bigger, louder part of him keeps turning over the notion that Rafa could love him back, and that’s maybe his whole answer right there.

  
  


*

  
  


Neymar likes David Brazil. He’s always unashamedly himself, but never in a way that makes anyone else uncomfortable or hurt. He’s got an ability to make friends with everyone, evidenced by the fact that the number of guests at his birthday party is in the hundreds.

 

But, the thing he appreciates most about David is that when he’s confronted with an awkward moment, he just keeps on talking like nothing unusual is happening.

 

And it’s an undoubtedly awkward moment, when Neymar sees Rafa again for the first time in months.

 

He’s standing alone near the bar, a drink in his hand. He looks good, tan and healthy, less lines of stress around his eyes. Their eyes meet right as David says, “Oh, look, there’s my beautiful Rafael! Let’s go say hello!” and pulls Neymar along.

 

Neymar doesn’t really register most of his chatter from there on out. He can’t seem to concentrate on one single thought, caught between his anger and the dark glitter of Rafa’s eyes. 

 

David keeps talking, and Rafa replies without taking his eyes off Neymar’s. Neymar doesn’t really catch what they’re saying, too distracted, but then David pats him on the back and makes a break for it, leaving the two of them alone in a very awkward silence.

 

“Hi,” Neymar says, quietly. He realizes he’s rocking on the soles of his feet in a nervous gesture and makes himself stop.

 

“Hi,” Rafa replies, smiles a little, almost shy, “long time no see.”

 

Neymar bites back his first answer. It’s not a particularly nice one. He just nods instead.

 

“Dani told me you were recovering,” he says, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “How’s your leg?”

 

Rafa takes a deep breath, pats his thigh. “It’s alright,” he says, “should be ready to go for pre-season.”

 

He’s wearing shorts and Neymar drops his gaze down. He’s got a scar winding its way around his knee. It’s all healed up, just a little pink around the edges. 

 

“That’s good,” Neymar says, and they fall into an awkward silence again.

 

Neymar wants to say something, but he’s afraid that whatever comes out will either be accusations, or liberally followed by tears, so he just keeps his mouth shut and his gaze on the floor.

 

They’re surrounded by beautiful people, their glamorous makeup and hairstyles melting as they dance and laugh. It makes their pocket of silence more glaringly obvious in contrast, and they’re attracting curious glances. They’ve probably been recognized already, and it’s only a matter of time before someone does something about it. The thought adds to the knot of anxiety curling in Neymar’s chest.

 

“Hey,” Rafa says suddenly, “do you want to get out of here?”

 

Neymar looks up from the floor and finds him looking hopeful. He nods and follows Rafa through the crowd.

 

There’s a moment, when the press of bodies gets thicker, almost oppressive, where he loses sight of Rafa almost entirely and panics, reaches out to grab his wrist. Rafa looks back at him, expression only half-visible in the overhead floodlights, but his fingers close warmly around Neymar’s, tangling together, and Neymar follows him blindly through the crowd.

 

As they get closer to the sea, the crowd thins, people split in smaller groups, talking quietly and laughing out loud. Rafa doesn’t drop his hand even though there’s no danger of them losing sight of each other, so Neymar gently extracts his hand from his grip instead, holds it close to his body so he won’t be tempted to reach out again. 

 

Rafa’s expression doesn’t change, his arm falling to his side. Neymar keeps fixating on his hand as they walk further along the beach, on the shape of his fingers on his white shorts, on the phantom warmth that’s left impressions on his hand.

 

They pass a couple sitting in the sand, their heads bent close together, their long hair tangling. Neymar looks away, towards the ocean, allowing them their privacy. He wraps his arms around his torso. Not really because it’s cold, but because it feels like he needs the security of it.

 

They stop at a secluded spot behind some rocks. Rafa sits down, slowly and carefully, enough for Neymar to notice. He sits down next to him, putting some distance between them, watching the ocean instead of Rafa’s face.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your messages,” Rafa says, softly.

 

“It’s okay,” Neymar says, even though it isn’t. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”

 

He really is.

 

“Which time?” Rafa says, like he’s trying to make a joke, but he sounds so sad that it falls flat.

 

“The last time,” Neymar says, quietly.

 

“Oh,” Rafa shifts the sand, a whisper of cloth, but Neymar refuses to look at him. “Me too.”

 

And that hurts, Neymar’s chest twisting in on itself.

 

“Yeah,” he says, because there’s nothing else he can think of.

 

“I shouldn’t have suggested we do the prank.”

 

“I shouldn’t have gone along with it, so,” Neymar shrugs.

 

They fall quiet again. It’s painfully awkward. Neymar thinks about getting up and leaving, but he’s rooted to the spot. A cold breeze blows from the ocean and he huddles in further on himself.

 

“Do you remember that one time, I think it was two years ago, when we got drunk on Dani’s birthday?” Rafa says, all of a sudden. “You don’t usually drink during the season, but that time you did.”

 

Neymar frowns. “Remember is a strong word,” he says, “Dani kept handing me shots of tequila and I remember the fifth one, but nothing much after that.”

 

“Oh,” Rafa says, and his tone sounds strange. Neymar looks over, finds him frowning.

 

“Why?”

 

“I just,” Rafa starts, shakes his head. “I kissed you that night. I thought you remembered and were just polite about letting me down.”

 

Neymar blinks at him. “And you never thought about mentioning that before?”

 

“I thought you were letting me down easy.”

 

Neymar groans and flops back into the sand, covering his face with his hands.

 

“What?” Rafa asks, indignant.

 

“You’re so fucking dumb, oh my god,” Neymar says, then amends, “we’re both fucking dumb.”

 

“Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have suggested we fake date after that,” Rafa says, sheepishly, and Neymar groans again.

 

“You think?” Neymar says, then rolls onto his side to look up at Rafa. “But when I kissed you, when we…slept, together. Why did you run away?”

 

He sounds plaintive, and he hates it a little. Rafa won’t look at him, and he hates that even more. So he pokes him in the side.

 

“Ow!” Rafa yells, glares at him. “What’s that for?”

 

“Look at me,” Neymar says, frowning up at him, “why did you leave?”

 

“I can’t crane my neck like that, it hurts!” Rafa complains, and Neymar rolls his eyes, reaches up and pulls him down next to him.

 

The motion puts Rafa close, especially when Neymar wraps his hand around his wrist and pins it to the ground. There’s a brief moment of silence, where they look at each other, and Neymar tries to read Rafa’s expression in the half-light.

 

“Why did you leave?” he asks again, almost whispering.

 

“You said you didn’t want to label it,” Rafa says, equally softly, “I thought you just wanted a bit of fun and I couldn’t handle that.”

 

“We called ourselves boyfriends for months and that didn’t mean anything,” Neymar says.

 

Rafa’s face clears, the tension around his mouth disappearing. “And you wanted it to mean something?”

 

Neymar huffs. “Yes, for fuck’s sake.”

 

“Really?” Rafa breathes into the space between the between them. He reaches up to touch Neymar’s cheek. There’s sand caught on his fingertips and it feels coarse against his skin.

 

Neymar leans into the touch, lets Rafa guide their mouths together. They kiss once, chastely, just a brush of lips, like a bargain. Neymar feels Rafa smile against his mouth.

 

“What?” Neymar whispers, stealing another kiss.

 

“Dani’s going to be really smug about this.”

 

“Can you not talk about Dani while I’m kissing you?”

 

“If I have room to talk, clearly you aren’t kissing me enough–”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Rafa's injury in this came in September 2015, against AC Roma


End file.
